


Sing Me A Song (Make It Short, Make It Long)

by Demerite



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cellist!Anxiety, Conductor(and oboist)!Patton, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Music school AU, Orchestra, Percussionist!Roman, Violinist!Logan, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: Ann’s pretty sure that Patton knows everything that happens in the orchestra. He’s positive, for example, that Patton knows about his crush on Roman; Patton has caught him staring between pieces and given him a knowing look more than once.





	Sing Me A Song (Make It Short, Make It Long)

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent music school AU because I was at rehearsal the other night and all of this just slotted into place and refused to leave my brain until I wrote it. 
> 
> And yes, I'm using Ann as Anxiety's name in the human AU, blame Emmet.

Ann nudges the door to the practice hall open with a foot, arms full of sheet music, his solos practice folder, a theory textbook, music history notes, and a half-empty water bottle. Set-up in already in full swing, the room filled with the chaotic sounds of chairs being moved, people chattering, and instruments being tuned. It’s a familiar, overwhelming cocktail of sounds, and Ann takes a moment to just absorb it all before he starts towards his seat at the other side of the room. 

He circles around behind the back row of chairs and the percussion section, studiously not looking at the young man who is organising the chaotic mix of instruments into a somewhat practical alignment. Too late, Roman notices him and smiles over, waving and calling out in greeting. Ann waves back, not looking at Roman and trying valiantly to ignore the way his stomach does backflips and his face probably goes bright red. It’s the same every time Roman speaks to him with that smile that lights up his whole face. Ann knows he’s got it bad for the handsome percussionist, but he’s doing his best to convince himself that he hasn’t in the hope that his crush will fade before he does something to tip Roman off to his feelings. 

Ann tips his armful of musically-related crap onto one of the tables against the far wall, and slides his hard cello case off his back, setting it down on the floor. He snaps open the clasps and retrieves his bow, tightening the delicate hairs and coating them quickly in rosin. Bow readied, Ann retrieves his cello, nudges the case shut, and weaves his way between stands and students to get to his place, first row, outside seat. He’s been principal cello for five months now, one month after he arrived here he’d been promoted. He’s still not entirely sure how he feels about it; it makes him feel like even more of an interloper into not only the orchestra, but the institute as a whole. 

His deskmate isn’t here yet, but the folder of sheet music is; Ann settles himself in his chair, balances his bow on the lip of the stand - and he knows he shouldn’t put it there - and loosens his cello’s endpin. This practice hall has mats under the cello and bass sections chairs, so he doesn’t have to worry about scratching the floor - not that he does generally - and in moments he’s set up and ready to tune. He draws the bow across the strings gently, matching his pitch to that of Patton, who doesn’t even play in the orchestra, but does play the oboe, the instrument to which the orchestra, like all orchestras, always tunes. Apparently their only oboist is still off sick, so Patton’s giving them their note for the sake of consistency. Ann doesn't care who plays it, it gives him an easy point to tune to no matter who plays. He twiddles with the fine tuner for D-string until the note is where it’s supposed to be, then sits back, resting the cello comfortably between his legs, and flicking through the sheet music. 

Nothing new has been added since last time, meaning that today’s rehearsal is going to be a three-hour yawnfest of the same old stuff with the same old problems as last rehearsal, because there’s no way either the trombones or the clarinets have their shit together anymore than they did three days ago. He sighs, reorders the sheets, and glances across the conductor’s podium to where the principal violinist, and concertmaster Logan, is already tuned, and is addressing his section about something. Probably telling them about the bowings they’d discussed earlier in the day after their shared Music History class. They’re supposed to have weekly section leader meetings with the violas’, woodwinds’, and brass’ section leaders, but this close to exams and solo evaluations, things like section leaders meetings tend to get forgotten in favour of frantically studying and practicing. In Ann’s opinion, group chats were invented for precisely this reason. 

His deskmate finally arrives, cheeks red, either from the bitter cold outside or from running to get to rehearsal in time, and drops into the seat next to Ann, mumbling apologies. Ann waves her off, not interested in why she’s late, and quickly runs over the revised bowings for the entire cello section. He only just manages to get through them all before Patton is calling the orchestra to attention. 

He quickly turns back around in his seat and does his best to look and act interested while they’re lectured on the importance of actually practicing the assigned parts between rehearsals, and how Patton always knows when someone hasn’t practiced. Ann’s pretty sure that Patton knows everything that happens in the orchestra. He’s positive, for example, that Patton knows about his crush on Roman; Patton has caught him staring between pieces and given him a knowing look more than once. It had taken a good deal of those knowing looks for Ann to stop feeling utterly mortified, but now he figures that Patton simply doesn’t care, or he would have said something.

The next three hours are, as Ann predicted, a yawn-fest. He spends his time split between playing, keeping an eye and an ear on his section, and sneaking covert glances towards the percussion section. He sees Roman mostly as the flash of his red t-shirt more than anything else, but once he looks over between songs to see Roman looking right back at him. The other boy winks at him, and Ann quickly turns his attention back to the sheet music in front of him, wondering if there’s a way to learn how not to blush. 

By the time they’re all filing out of the rehearsal room again, Ann is exhausted. It’s the tail end of a long day, at the tail end of a long week, with the promise of solo practice, Music Theory homework, and a study group with Logan and a few other students from Music History over the weekend. He’s not looking forward to it. In fact, the only thing he’s looking forward to right now is his bed, and maybe food. His stomach growls at him. Yeah, definitely food. 

He’s aiming to slip away before anyone tries to speak to him, after all, his section has had all rehearsal to ask him things, and it’s not like they don’t have his number if there’s a desperate need, and he’s really not in the mood for conversation, when Roman appears at his side, opening the door out into the main part of the building. Ann gives him a curt nod in thanks, hoping that Roman will take the hint and leave him alone, but Roman is either persistent, or incredibly dense, and keeps pace with Ann as they walk along the long corridor. 

“So, you ready for solos?” Roman asks. He’s swinging his mallet case on his arm, and basically bouncing as he walks. The amount of energy he seems to always have is infuriating. 

“Ugh.” Ann replies, “Is anyone? Other than Logan, of course.” 

Roman laughs, and Anns’ traitorous stomach does another backflip. “Sometimes I wonder why he bothers with them,” he jokes, “It’s not like we don’t all know how good he is.” 

 

Ann mumbles an agreement, because it’s true. Logan is possibly the best violinist the institute has ever seen, if the gossip spread between the various teachers is to be believed - and it usually is. 

Roman continues to walk with him and talk at him and Ann retreats back into noncommittal, one-syllable responses until they reach the front doors. Roman opens them and holds the heavy oak door open for Ann, who gives him a nod and exits into the freezing air. There’s snow forecast in the next few days. 

Ann starts off towards his dorm, located in the eastmost of the residences buildings across the large courtyard. Roman follows him. Ann stops. Roman stops next to him. 

“What are you doing?” Ann asks bluntly, “Your dorm is in the west building.” 

“I know.” Roman says. 

“So?” Ann gives him a mildly perplexed look. 

“Can I not walk you back to your dorm?” Roman looks mildly wounded. 

_Don’t get excited he’s probably just being nice_ Ann thinks to himself, “Okay, sure.” He tells Roman, who grins at him. Ann can’t help but smile back at him and start walking. Roman follows along beside him, still practically bouncing as he walks. 

They talk a little as they head towards Ann’s dorm, discussing orchestra and exams and solos and Ann hardly realises that they’ve made it to the east residences building until Roman opens the foyer door for him. Ann ducks inside, delighting in the warmth of the building that suddenly surrounds him. 

“Well, um, bye, I guess.” He says to Roman. 

Roman smiles at him, bright and happy, “See you at rehearsal, Ann.” he says, turning and heading back out into the grey evening. 

Ann stands in the foyer, watching until Roman is out of sight. He sighs heavily, _you’ve got it bad, Ann,_ he tells himself, starting down the corridor towards his dorm.

His dorm, like all single dorms, is tiny, but it's worth it to have his own space. To his right when he opens the door is a closet, and further along, a desk that is covered with sheet music, note, books, his spare bow and at least two empty coffee mugs. On his left is just enough space for his cello, and then his bed. The entire beck room of his dorm is a window of sorts, made up of thick glass tiles; some are opaque, lending the room privacy and light, and some of them are clear, affording a view of the sun setting behind the woods at the edge of campus. Ann groans. He’s left the curtains open again, and the room is almost as cold as outside. 

He sets his cello down at the end of his bed and crosses to draw the curtains shut. He considers his bed. The blankets are still pulled back from where he threw them off that morning. Surely lying down for just a moment wouldn’t hurt, right? He kicks off his shoes.

***

“Patton, have you seen Ann this morning?” Logan asks. He’s standing outside of a study room, phone pressed to his ear. Ann is late for study group, and he and Patton use the same practice room on Saturday mornings, so it’s reasonable to assume that Ann has simply gone over practice time again. It happens fairly often, he tends to get lost in the music and forget what the time is.

“No, he wasn’t here when I arrived.” Patton says, voice considering, “Have you called him?” 

“Twice, he didn’t answer, I thought he must have been practicing.” 

Just then, Ann rounds the corner, balancing books and notes and what is likely the biggest can of energy drink that he could get his hands on, in his arms, calling out apologies for being late. Logan wraps up the call with Patton quickly, all Ann hears is “-you too.” and Logan is slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

“Where were you?” Logan asks, trying not to sound accusatory. 

“Slept in.” Ann tells him, nudging open the room door and slipping inside quickly. 

Logan follows him, perplexed. Ann might sometimes complain about it, but he’s never missed a practice, and he’s never been late to study group before. He’s always been a hard worker, Logan suspects because he still feels like an outsider here; Logan is concerned that this might mean something is wrong with him.

***

Logan, as it turns out, is right to be concerned.

Ann starts showing up late for classes. He starts skipping solo practice. He looks exhausted, the ever-present dark circles under his eyes looks almost bruise-like, his hair, when he pushes back the hood of his jacket, is a mess. He barely speaks to anyone, stops answering questions in class. Then, he doesn't come to an orchestra rehearsal. 

Logan voices his concerns to Patton after the rehearsal has concluded, and Patton agrees that something is definitely wrong, and that someone should go to Ann’s dorm to check on him. 

“I can go, but I don’t know how happy he’ll be to see me. He hasn’t been answering my texts.” Roman offers. 

“Eavesdropping isn’t a good habit, Roman.” Patton tells him, and Roman looks faintly guilty. He considers Roman’s suggestion, “I think he’ll be happier to see you than anyone else.” 

Roman shoots him a quizzical look, wondering what he’s up to. Patton almost always has some form of plan that no-one else is aware of, be it making the trombones practice a slightly different rhythm that makes sense when played with the rest of the bend, or in sending Roman to check on Ann. Roman just wishes he knew what it was. 

It’s snowed the last three days on and off, and the evening sky is once more filled with heavy clouds as Roman makes his way across the campus. From this angle he can see the dorm windows, and he counts them until he finds Ann’s. The curtains are drawn. Cold, and anxious, he quickens his pace until he’s almost running towards the building. 

He yanks open the door and jogs down the hall until he reaches Ann’s door, bangs on it with one fist until he hears the lock click, and Ann pokes his head out, holding the door almost closed. 

“What?” He asks, looking exhausted and rumpled. 

“Hi.” Roman says, feeling suddenly awkward and wrong-footed. “I...we…you weren’t at rehearsal.” 

“Yeah. So?” Ann sounds defensive, bordering on angry. 

“We were worried about you.” Roman tries to explain, “Can...can I come in?” 

Ann looks like he’s considering it. Then he shrugs, “Yeah, whatever.” He opens the door and steps back, allowing Roman in. 

Ann’s dorm is a mess. There’s sheet music everywhere, notes piled on top of empty bowls and coffee mugs and food packets. The floor is a mess of clothes. There’s a jacket thrown over his cello case, almost as if Ann is trying to hide it. The only thing that appears relatively untouched by the mess is Ann’s bed, the blankets are tangled and twisted a little, but at least there looks like there’s space to sit.

Ann hurriedly straightens the covers and sits on the edge of his bed.

“I’d offer you the chair but…” he trails off, and Roman looks the the chair, which has several heavy textbooks and a pile of annotated photocopies on it. He smiles, and sits next to Ann on the bed. 

For a moment, neither of them speak. Then Roman says simply, “What’s wrong, Ann?” 

Ann snorts derisively, “Nothing’s wrong.” He’s lying, and Roman can see it. 

Roman gives him a look, one eyebrow arched. 

Ann sighs. 

“I thought about what I’m doing here.” He says simply, “And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s pointless. I’m not that great at the cello, and I clearly don’t _belong_ here with all the real musicians, so why should I bother?” 

Roman is astonished. “You’re kidding me, right?” he asks. 

Ann glares.

“Ann, you’re principal cellist, in the best orchestra here.” Roman points out, “You do realise that makes you the best cellist in the school, right?” You can say a lot of things about Patton, but you and I both know that he doesn’t play favourites, if you’ve got that chair it’s because you earned it.” 

Ann gives him a dubious look. 

“Ann, you’re an amazing cellist.” Roman insists, “You’re almost as good as Logan is, and that’s high praise because - ”

“No-one’s as good as Logan.” Ann mutters, lips quirking upwards. “Sure.” 

“Here,” Roman reaches into his backpack, “I brought you copies of the new ensemble stuff. Patton’s called for an extra rehearsal tomorrow morning because the winter concert is so soon, and he told me to tell you that he expects you to be there.” 

Ann groans, scrubbing at his face with both hands. 

“He did say, however, that he’ll tell Logan not to expect you at study group if it means you’ll get to rehearsal.” Roman nudges Ann’s shoulder. 

“I should probably go to study group.” Ann sighs, “I haven’t done this week’s coursework yet.” 

“Ann!” Roman feigns outrage. 

Ann is about to reply with some of his trademark sass when his stomach growls, loud in the quiet room. Roman snorts softly, and then Ann tries to smother a giggle and suddenly they’re both laughing, leaning against one another on Ann’s bed. 

“When did you last eat?” Roman asks, getting his breath back. They’re still half leaning on each other, and Roman is suddenly very aware of how close Ann’s face is to his. He turns his face away before he goes bright red. 

“What day is today?” Ann replies, utterly serious. 

“Are you kidding me?” Roman is not pleased, “Come on; You. Me. Dining hall. Now. We’re getting you some dinner.” He slides off the bed and grabs Ann by the collar of his jacket, “No arguments from you, mister misery.” 

Ann grumbles something about looking for his shoes, and Roman makes for the door. He goes to turn the handle. It’s stuck. He tries again, harder this time. The handle refuses to move. 

“Uh...Ann..?” he says, “Your door is broken.” 

Ann pushes past him and rattles the handle experimentally. It doesn’t budge. 

“I already tried that.” Roman says, irritable. He can’t be confined in a room with Ann like this, that’s just not fair, there’s no way he can deal with being so close to him for however long it’s going to take to get the door open again, he just - he cuts off that train of thought as quickly as it began, shaking his head swiftly to clear it. 

“What’s the number for the maintenance guy?” He asks. 

“We have a maintenance guy?” Ann says, perplexed. 

“Yeah, that guy who’s always carrying around a ladder or a toolbox.” Roman explains, “Surely he has a phone.” 

Ann shrugs, “I’m just gonna call Patton.” he says. He has to search for his phone among the debris on his desk, but eventually he finds it and dials. 

Roman listens in on Ann’s side of the conversation, and his concern mounts when he hears Ann say, “Oh you’re fucking kidding me.” 

“What?” he asks, the moment Ann hangs up. 

“Maintenance guy has left for the weekend.” Ann says, sounding defeated. “Patton’s gonna see if he can call a locksmith to come in instead, but-”

“It’s 8pm on a Friday.” Roman finishes. “Great.” 

“Looks like we’re stuck here.” Ann says, kicking off his shoes again and settling himself, cross-legged on his bed. After a moment, Roman also removes his shoes and joins him. 

“So what do we do now?” Roman asks Ann.

Suddenly, all the lights in the room go out. 

“You’ve _got to be fucking kidding me!”_ Ann repeats, glaring at the ceiling. 

“Talk about bad timing.” Roman says, “Must be the storm that was coming in.” 

“Ugh!” Ann proclaims dramatically, and Roman hears him flop over sideways onto the bed. 

They sit in silence for a while, waiting for the lights to come back on. They don’t. Ann’s phone lights up with a message from the dorm coordinator advising students that the power, and therefore the central heating, in the East Building is out because of the storm, and telling them to keep warm with extra blankets and to close their curtains to keep heat in. Roman can see Ann shivering in the light of his phone screen. _Fuck it,_ he decides, _it’ll help keep both of you warm, your crush on him isn't’ the only reason you’re doing this, it’s practical too._

“You’re shivering.” He says to Ann. 

“That’s because it’s cold, genius.” Ann snips back. 

“Come here then.” Roman picks up the blankets from the bed and throws one end over his shoulders, holding the other out to Ann, who regards him with suspicion for a moment before the cold gets the better of him and he edges over until he’s sitting, barely touching Roman’s side, under the blanket. Roman huffs and puts an arm around Ann’s shoulders, pulling him close. They sit on the bed together, wrapped in the blankets, backs against the wall for what feels like hours. At first they talk; Roman gives Ann a rundown on the new orchestra pieces, and Ann tells him about the pieces he’s preparing for solos, and the complain about exams and teachers and homework and other musicians and complex pieces and dead composers who had no sympathy for music students of the future. 

Eventually, Ann dozes off, leaning against Roman’s side. Roman closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, and eventually follows him into sleep. 

__

____

***

Ann wakes because something is poking him in the leg. He blinks a few times, and finds that he’s unable to move most of his body. For a moment he panics, then he takes a deep breath and realises that he can’t move because he’s being held in the arms of someone larger and stronger than he is. Roman.

There’s still the mystery of what’s poking him in the leg to contend with. 

Ann wriggles and nudges Roman until he wakes, blinking in the low light. “Wha’?” he mumbles, disoriented. 

“Please, tell me that’s a tuning fork in your pocket.” Ann says. 

Roman moves around, and whatever’s poking Ann in the thigh vanishes. Seconds later, Roman holds up a miniature tuning fork. 

“Why do you even _have_ that?!” Ann asks. 

Roman shrugs and taps it against the wall, letting the note ring out in the quiet room. 

“What time is it?” he asks Ann, returning the tuning fork to his pocket. 

“7am.” Ann tells him, tapping at his phone, “Patton says someone will be here to fix the door within the hour.” 

“Yes!” Roman whoops, “Not that I don’t like spending time with you, I really, really do.” He adds hurriedly, “Like, a lot actually, you have no idea, but seriously, I need to eat.” 

“I...uh...me too.” Ann says softly, “Need to eat, I mean. I… I also really like spending time with you, you’re really nice and I really like you a lot and I’m gonna shut up now because I already look like an idiot.” he puts his hands over his mouth, as if that will stop the words, or somehow put them back in again. 

 

“Hang on.” Roman says, “When you say ‘like’, do you mean…”

Ann doesn’t say anything.

 

“As in friendship?” Roman asks, trying not to get his hopes up, “Or...more than that?”

Ann jumps at the second suggestion. 

“Um...uh...I- the second one!” He bursts out, refusing to look at Roman. 

“Oh, thank god.” Roman says, voice full of joy and laughter and relief, “I’m so glad you said that, now I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to kiss you all last night.” 

“Wait, you wanted to kiss me?” Ann whirls around to face him. 

“Um, still kinda do.” Roman says, “If you’re okay with that, obviously.” 

“I’m okay with it.” 

“Good.” 

Roman closes the distance between them to kiss Ann gently on the lips. It’s a soft kiss, a shy kiss, and Ann leans forward a little too much, bumping his forehead against Roman’s but neither of them mind in the slightest. When Roman moves back it’s only for a second, before the dam breaks, and they surge towards one another again, kissing each other harder, with more passion. Ann’s hands are in Roman’s hair and Roman’s arms are around Ann’s waist, they stumble back towards Ann’s bed and - 

Someone bangs on the door. 

“Ann! Roman! Are you in there?” It’s Patton. “I’m here with the locksmith.” 

They separate quickly, brushing their clothes down. Roman runs a hand through his hair to push it back into place and whispers ‘to be continued’ to Ann, who replies with a smirk. 

“Hi Patton!” Roman calls through the door. 

“I am so glad to hear your voice.” Ann adds, only sounding slightly sarcastic. 

“Just sit tight, we’ll get you out.” Patton tells them. 

Less than a minute of twiddling with the lock later, and the door pops open. Patton is standing outside the door holding two takeaway coffee cups with paper bags balanced on top of them. 

“I brought you coffee.” he tells them, “And breakfast.” 

“You, are my hero.” Roman proclaims dramatically, taking the offerings and passing Ann his share. 

“I just came to see that you’re alright.” Patton says. They both mumble confirmation that they’re okay. “I’ll let you have your breakfast, and I’ll see both of you at rehearsal later on.” Patton waves goodbye, and closes the door. Ann immediately jumps up to make sure that they’re not locked in again, but it’s fine, the door opens and closes perfectly.

They eat the danishes that Patton brought them and drink the coffee sitting on Ann’s bed, nudging one another and grinning. Ann squeaks in surprise when Roman leans across to kiss him, and Roman laughs gently. 

“Are you okay with this?” Roman asks again. 

“Yes.” Says Ann in mild exasperation. He puts his mostly-empty coffee cup aside, and leans in to kiss Roman again. 

They end up sprawled on Ann’s bed, lazily making out for the next little while. After a time, the lights come back on, followed by the central heating, but neither of them notice, too absorbed in each other. 

Eventually, Roman’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He sits up, running a hand through his hair again, and looks at it. He swears. 

“What is it?” Ann sits up too. 

“Rehearsal starts in 10.” Roman tells him. 

It’s Ann’s turn to swear this time.

The two of them scramble about, finding shoes and jackets and sheet music. Ann considers trying to fix his hair but gives up and throws a hoodie on, tugging the hood up to hide it. 

“Ready?” Ann asks Roman, one hand on the doorknob. 

“Wait!” Roman says, “One quick question?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do...do you wanna be my boyfriend?” it comes out in a rush. 

Ann grins, tugs Roman closer by the straps of his backpack and kisses him firmly, “I’d love to.” he says, “Now _come on,_ we’re gonna be late.”

***

They make it to rehearsal just in the nick of time, slipping through the doors out of the cold, and joining in with the mildly organised chaos of set-up and tuning. Patton shoots them a knowing look as they arrive, and Ann tries his hardest not to blush - he’s pretty sure he fails, but it’s worth a try.

Rehearsal runs surprisingly smoothly, even if Ann is sight reading for the most part, and ultimately Patton pronounces himself pleased with their progress. 

Ann’s leaving the rehearsal room when Roman falls into step beside him. 

“So I was thinking.” He says. “Do you wanna see a movie with me sometime?” 

“Sure.” Ann says, “When?” 

“Tonight?” Romans suggests hopefully. 

Ann grins, and takes Roman’s hand. Roman doesn’t object.

“I’d love to.” he says, smiling.

***

“So they’re together now?” Logan asks, zipping his violin case closed.

“I didn’t think you liked that sort of gossip.” Patton tells him, collecting all the scores from today’s rehearsal. 

“I don’t. But you do.” 

Patton laughs lightly, “They’re together. Finally.” He steps down from the conductor’s podium and puts an arm around Logan’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Patton I told you, we shouldn’t engage in public displays of affection on campus.” Logan objects, but it’s a token protest; he leans against Patton affectionately. 

“Well then let’s leave campus for a while.” Patton suggests, “We could go see a movie? It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.” 

Logan makes a noise of agreement, and they leave the rehearsal hall, walking just close enough for the backs of their hands to brush, into the cool of the late afternoon.

**THE END**


End file.
